


count on me, i will not fail you

by miliitem



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic, Happy Ending, Horror, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Psychological Horror, T&N FIC, Walks In The Park, Werewolf Richie Tozier, i would strongly reccomend reading t&n before reading this, just a bit :), like a stupid dumb amount of gay metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miliitem/pseuds/miliitem
Summary: Richie and Eddie walk through Lincoln Park at the pace of a loose plastic bag on a particularly windless day. Neither of them can focus on actually walking somewhere when they’re so preoccupied by snappish hand gestures, odd caricatures, and loud laughter. They have to stop every few feet to get in another jab or rebuke, and neither are very good at taking attention off of the other.  Paired together out in the open like this, one could make the comparison of two electric trains barreling down parallel tracks— so close to each other that there might as well only be three rails.Richie and Eddie, after their Derry winter.[a fic for Tooth & Nail AU on twitter!]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	count on me, i will not fail you

**Author's Note:**

> i would heavily recommend reading t&n [ https://twitter.com/ToothAndNailAU?s=20 ] before this, but it can be read standalone if you want! you'll be a little confused though. 
> 
> thank u to everyone who yelled at me to finish this over the course of like . two absurd months.  
> thank u to everyone who sprinted with me to write this!!!  
> thank u to robin (ilusm) so absolutely saving my ass w ur edits!!

Richie and Eddie walk through Lincoln Park at the pace of a loose plastic bag on a particularly windless day. Neither of them can focus on actually walking somewhere when they’re so preoccupied by snappish hand gestures, odd caricatures, and loud laughter. They have to stop every few feet to get in another jab or rebuke, and neither are very good at taking attention off of the other. Paired together out in the open like this, one could make the comparison of two electric trains barreling down parallel tracks— so close to each other that there might as well only be three rails.

It’s an exceedingly warm summer. The days are getting shorter and shorter as the season crests. The sun is beginning to set, casting a honey-warm light over everything. There’s a comforting balance of warm and cool later in the afternoons now, something that they both find time to appreciate in-between playful arguing and small stolen moments. That day, Eddie had narrowly tugged Richie back from the public debauchery of an unironic _‘Suns Out, Guns Out’_ shirt, much to his amusement. Richie, in turn, had to slip a jacket off of Eddie’s shoulders, reminding him that though he was chronically cold year-round, he would survive a walk in the park. Eddie is grateful for that now, feeling the light sheen of sweat simmering on his brow. Richie is grateful that Eddie at least let him out of the house with a horrific printed California Raisin (complete with the sunglasses and the thumbs-up) tee.

“But if you actually, oh, I don’t know Richie— read the books, you would know!”

“Why would I do that if the TV series is right there?”

Eddie gives Richie a look of exasperation so withering and so deep that he’s startled into laughter. Sparks fly down the metaphorical train rails as Eddie struggles to keep from laughing as well, unwilling to give Richie the satisfaction. It’s a delicate game of back-and-forth. If either tips or reaches too far and toes the line, they either end up laughing for a side-achingly long amount of time or turn awkward and stand-offish. They know this dance well, though, and they’ve orchestrated it countless times in the three years they’ve known each other. It’s a balance only made stronger by their differences, and they know just where to push and pull and let go and laugh.

Their shared apartment is a perfect physical example of this. The floors and countertops are notoriously clean and organized, but the walls sport obscure movie posters and framed records. A few odd label maker stickers are taped onto some of the containers, but they cut off halfway through their Tupperware after Richie hid the label maker, citing, _“Eds, I promise I can remember not to put soup in the flour container on accident.”_ There are three antibacterial hand soaps near the sink next to a ratty hand towel with a faded turtle pattern on it, and if you open the silverware drawer, despite there being a good amount of mismatched silverware, all of the utensils are grouped in their respective measured compartments. Their refrigerator has an abundance of novelty magnets, some of which spell out ‘SPAGHTI’ and ‘DCK’, abbreviated because some of the alphabet was in use for the grocery list, and the other half was under the fridge. There are a few magnets from Bill and Mike’s road trip down the east coast, a few from the revamped Chicago-area-fresh Marsh Clinic, with Bev, Eddie, and Ben’s work numbers, and a few miscellaneous bird and dog magnets from Stan and Patty. Their living room holds all of Eddie’s vet magazines and medical textbooks, as well as Richie’s newly-LA-relocated, out-of-order comic book anthology collection.

“Why don’t you just buy the individual comics in-order? How do you even know what’s going on?”  
“Not knowing what’s going on is half the fun when reading those!”

The old blanket that was so often wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders when walking around his freezing Derry house is now thrown over the couch, alongside a blanket solely patterned with a gigantic wolf face, a recent buy of Richie’s. Richie is infinitely amused by it, which means that Eddie has to feign disdain when Richie steals his blanket, leaving him to use the wolf one instead. Their whole apartment is like this, a collection of Eddie’s stuff against Richie’s, Richie’s stuff against Eddie’s, interest paired with interest.

They first started stockpiling their weird amalgamation of their personality-apartment back when they had first moved in, starting off strong two years ago with their shared collection of Novibac cases, now an odd necessity in both of their lives. For Richie, a lifeline to a semblance of normalcy. For Eddie, a boat of stability and routine in a storm. The Novibac is now kept in an easy-access nook under the sink and gets taken out methodically every three days for a dose. Most days the dose is followed by a kiss. This has also become a routine.

Re-learning their routine in a place so decidedly un-Derry-like has been both a relief and a struggle for them. Their first night out of Derry, the first place they went was Lincoln Park, both of them simultaneously intimidated by and grateful for the reaching buildings towering over them. It was far too dark and too cold to sit on the grass and stare into the surrounding trees, but they did it anyway, talking about nothing to each other, and each quietly reassuring the other of what they did not know. This led to the both of them getting woken up in the early-morning by a concerned passerby startled on their jog at the sight of two forty-year-old men sleeping on each other in the park. Richie still laughs about it, whereas Eddie buries his head in his hands and tries not to laugh along. Push and pull.

Their first winter in Chicago, while also attempting to be enduringly positive, was one of their worst. The chill brought with it acrid memories of the unnamed Derry forest, the sewers, and the quarry. It swept into their small apartment and curled into the corners in which their fears had been boxed into, coaxing them out with the threat of the freeze. For Richie, this meant barely-repressed twitchy jumpiness.The feeling of absent autonomy. The ever-present shift under his skin grew brash with the cold, as if trying to set him alight from the inside. For Eddie, it was compulsive over-busyness. The thought of knowing that if he stopped doing, he might not ever un-stick himself into movement again. Their frequent trips to the park ceased when the once-welcoming openness of it turned into a threat, into not knowing where to look for danger. After one unsettling incident with a reaching branch and a great deal of yelling, both opted to stay indoors to stave off the chill. Eddie still made the commute each day to the new clinic, but in the insulated heat of his car, and then his office. Richie, a few weeks into his new job of reading audiobooks, would often take the train to bring Eddie lunch, or just to loiter in the lobby and chat amicably with whomever he could. There was a comfortable rule of crowds in their winter, the exception being their apartment, which they kept as warm and bright as they could.

Winter also meant more out-of-city night trips for Richie, the cold aggravating him beyond containment. The Novibac worked wonders, but they both simultaneously found out that one-hundred-percent suppression wasn't an ideal route. Eddie had been driving back to home from a rare late-night MVC shift. (They had all left behind a lot of things in Derry, but one thing that had stuck was to 'never stay in the clinic too far after hours.') His phone had died on the way out the door, the model too worn-out to have sufficient battery life to make it through the day. Eddie, ever a firm believer in the sentiment 'use it until it breaks,' hadn't admitted to himself yet that he might have needed a new battery.

The traffic was hellish that night, an infuriating stop-start-stop at each light and beyond. Eddie tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, watching the sun finally dip out of sight, jaw tight.

Richie, back at the apartment, watched the sun disappear as well from their fourth-story window. His fingers drummed on the cover of a book for which he had just completed an audio file. _'Unfortunate Accidents & Machinations.'_ Overall a decent sci-fi novel. Richie had worked out a new robot-like voice through some trial and error (i.e. Eddie's exasperated reactions), and was happy to have an excuse to use it. A page stayed worried between his forefinger and thumb. He'd have to recommend this book to Mike, he thought. And then leave the book somewhere around the apartment for Eddie to pick up and eventually read as well.

The page creased. His eyes moved over to the window. It reflected only the inside of the apartment, the cold reading lamp Richie used creating a large glare on the glass. He turned it off, the whole room cast in long shadows that had been made even longer by the pitch black that was the outside. His gaze dropped to the book title once more. _'Unfortunate Accidents & Machinations.'_ Richie reached for his phone and haltingly called Eddie. The dial tone seemed to sharpen with each ring. It went to voicemail after seven shrill beeps.

Richie knew it by heart. _Hello, you have reached Edward Kaspbrak. Unfortunately, I am unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can._

He stood and started to pace. He tried again and looked out the window. Late-night passersby lined the sidewalks. Richie had to remind himself that no-one was watching him. He turned the lights off. No one could see inside. He drew the blinds anyway. Eddie's voicemail lingered tinny and repetitive in his ear. He moved to the living room, sitting on the couch. (They didn't have the two blankets yet— only one, which they stretched out and shared and pretended to bicker over.)

Richie tapped his phone on his knee. He could still feel the imprints of the people below on the street, like looking at the sun and closing your eyes and seeing the negative space float around behind your retina. He tried Eddie a total of four more times. The traitorous four words floated through his mind again. _'Unfortunate Accidents & Machinations.'_

_What if something got Eddie,_ the thing under his skin whispered. _What if he's out there and—_ Richie paced fervently. The thing’s whispers grew to a crescendo. There was a pull in his gut, twisted coils beneath his skin, electric spikes down his spine, and thorns under his nails. And then all of that was outside of him. He was still aware of himself enough to panic, his claws scrabbling against the hardwood floor in the now-cramped apartment. He's stuck in the living room, back nearly touching the ceiling and tail lain across the couch. Distant footsteps echoed against the stairs of their apartment building, now amplified tenfold to Richie's ears. He listened to the harsh rap of dress shoes on the wood, becoming tenser and tenser, claws digging deeper and deeper into the living room floor. _They're coming for you now, Richie,_ the thing whispered. _They got Eddie and now it's your turn._ He didn't have any room to move— and the footsteps were nearly right outside the door— 

It was Eddie.

"Hey Rich, I'm h-" The aborted greeting died on his lips just as fast as the smile on them. "What-" Eddie moved toward Richie. Richie still feels electrified when he thinks about it. The novelty of Eddie moving towards him has never worn off. Especially when he's like this. Eddie was framed by the harsh light streaming in from the open door behind him, an industrial halo. It hurt Richie's eyes to look at, but what was he going to do? Turn away? Eddie shut the door and reached for his face. Richie lowered it to meet him halfway.

"What happened?" Richie huffed, pushing into Eddie's hand and curling around him (as much as he could in the cramped space. He felt the couch being pushed back nearly into their kitchen). Some attempt at the semblance of safety that Richie wanted to give Eddie. He tipped over, fully supported by Richie's flank. "Wh- Richie-" The crease in-between his eyes smoothed, and the smile previously left at the door slipped in now that the tension had been broken by their closeness. Eddie let out a fond laugh and he smiled, and that's all Richie could’ve asked for. "Okay, Rich, okay." They both lay down, pressed close in their cramped living room, and sleep came easy.

Nothing else was said until morning when Eddie woke up next to a stark-naked non-wolf Richie. That was followed by a lengthy lecture ending in a Novibac dose and a customary kiss.

Long story short: winters were tense within the Tozier-Kaspbrak apartment, but they’d gotten through them together, like the winter before.

But for now, it was summer. The first summer they could properly enjoy, really. Their last summer was spent adjusting in-between the Losers’ collective network of houses. It had taken a while for the feeling of safety to settle for all of them. This resulted in bi-weekly ‘Loser’s Club Meetings,’ a term coined by Richie that just kind of stuck. The word ‘meetings’ was always used loosely for what they ended up doing, i.e.,a metric tonne of talking often followed by them sleeping over at the host's place. Patty, now an honorary Loser, (by proxy of not immediately thinking they all were crazy when Stan eased her into an explanation of why his ‘research nights’ had inexplicably gotten longer) slept over as well, offering a steadying outsider’s perspective when the discussion crept into an echo chamber of anxieties. These ‘meetings’ slowly tapered off after that winter, as their distance from Derry settled in.

Their non-'meeting' interactions never cut off. All of them still made frequent trips to the clinic (despite Stan and Patty being the only ones with pets, aside from Bill and Mike's new turtle). Bev was still running the clinic free of Tom's interference, and Eddie was still by her side as a nurse. Ben, in Richie's job-hunting absence, had slotted into the dynamic of the clinic seamlessly. Bill and Mike found the time to review books on their new podcast (an automatic embargo on horror was placed near-immediately), often choosing books that Richie had done recordings for. Stan and Patty had also formed a duo finding work at a local museum. They both ran tours, their combined odd encyclopedic knowledge an easy fit for their positions. The Losers formed their own small revolving solar system. Or maybe they just relocated it— their orbit had started long before their second summer.

The park, however, was a Richie and Eddie exclusive. Here, rather than a solar system, they became a binary one. Two stars in each other's orbit. Maybe a more apt comparison would be a circular chase, both always racing to catch up with the other. They had wound their circle tighter and tighter since they had first met, getting closer and closer until neither could remember who was chasing who anymore, or who had even started it. All Richie and Eddie knew now was that their chase had brought them so close together, they could reach out and catch and hold each other close. (They took advantage of this often).

Richie pokes at Eddie's side, "There's nothing wrong with consuming media like that."

Eddie slaps his hand away and retaliates with a light shove and, "'Consuming media,' shut the fuck up," a bright laugh. "Just read the books first! That's how it goes!"

Richie leans into Eddie's space so far he stumbles and puts an arm up to his forehead. "I've been debauched! Debased! The 'that's how it goes' argument? From Edward F. Kaspbrak? Not a whole essay and spreadsheet ordeal?" 

Eddie scoffs and pushes at Richie's side, trying halfheartedly to move him. "You of all people! Depriving me of my foreplay!" This makes Eddie fully shove Richie off of him, giving in to the urge to laugh.

"Shut the fuck up!" It's said with unbearable fondness. Richie grins, having won this small moment.

They've drifted through the park long enough to have reached their impromptu camping spot from their first night here. They both share a look, Richie’s teasing and Eddie’s more like 'mention this one more time and see what happens.' Eddie laces their hands together. 

"Don't," he smiles, "Say it." Richie mimes a zipper across his lips. 

"Wouldn't dream of it, spaghetti."

Richie tugs on their intertwined hands, pulling off of the path and onto the grass. Eddie raises an eyebrow but follows, step for step. They stop, entertaining a small slice of silence before Richie takes a breath, steadying and calm, like what he's going to say next is an indisputable fact.

"I can't remember the last time I was this happy."

Eddie opens his mouth to respond but Richie stops him. "No, let me finish. I have to get all this sappy shit out in one go, if you stop me, I'll laugh at myself."

Richie centers himself again, grinning down at their shoes. "You make me so fuckin' sappy, you bastard. Fuck you." Eddie nudges Richie's shoulder with his own, as if to say, 'you too.' "I'm so fuckin' happy I- no fuck off. This had a point. I had a point, here." Richie throws back his head and laughs, free hand over his face. "Shit!" More laughter. "I swear I had this all planned, and it was gonna be seamless and smooth— " Richie rests his forehead on Eddie's. "Should have known better."

Eddie looks up into Richie's eyes, inches from his own. And then, suddenly they're not. Richie's down on one knee, digging in his back pocket. Eddie doesn't let him finish, following him down. Richie starts to laugh and he puts both hands on Eddie's shoulders, a small box now tightly clasped in one."Eds, you're supposed to be up there."

"N...No. Fuck you." Eddie puts his own hands up, clasping the back of Richie's neck. "Ohhh my god no, fuck you." He laughs, at the situation and from the happiness, from the pure elation of it all. He rests his head on Richie's right shoulder, face turned in towards his neck. Richie's hand comes up to clasp him in a weird kneeling hug. He's laughing too. "What? What did I do?"

"Gah-ha-ha-ooood-- you dickhead," Eddie laughs into his shoulder. "You asshole! I didn't bring mine! No way did we miss the timing by a fucking day—"

Richie throws his head back and smiles at the second sun, holding the first in his arms. 

They both hold onto each other, laughing at themselves until Eddie uses his leverage to tug Richie’s face down into the semblance of a kiss— Richie is still laughing excitedly into Eddie’s mouth. 

“Quit laughing, dickhead!” Eddie is laughing too, eyes trailing down to see Richie finally pulling out the small green box. 

“Actually—“ Richie starts, “I was just getting down on one knee to tie my shoe,” he opens the box. “Isn’t that funny?” It’s a ring. Simple, silver. Eddie is immediately mad. It’s perfect. 

He tips his head forward onto Richie’s shoulders, dissolving into a slew of expletives as he lights up like a livewire. Eddie feels Richie’s shoulders move in time with raucous laughter, feels his collarbone shift as his hand moves to the back of Eddie’s neck. 

“So, is that a yes?” The livewire sparks and bursts into flame at Richie’s shit-eating tone. 

“Fucking— give me it.” 

“Okay, bossy.” Richie could have said _‘Okay, love’_ in the exact same tone and it would have had the same meaning. 

The ring slips on, guided by Richie. 

The livewire connects in a searing kiss.

Richie disconnects slowly, like coming up for a gasp of air you don’t quite need yet. 

“I don’t know about you, but my knees fucking hurt.” 

Eddie laughs, tugging Richie down to sit on the ground with him. He’s too far gone to worry about grass stains now. 

“When we get home, I’m giving you yours.” Eddie huffs out. 

Richie tries and fails not to get swept away with the tidal wave of affection crashing over him. It doesn’t quite work. He pulls Eddie towards him (they were already _so close_ ). 

“Counting on it, hon.”

They end up falling asleep in the park again, pressed impossibly close, two trains, two stars, paired against and now with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @miliitem ! :,) 
> 
> thank you for readin!


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